AMOS COBB'S ADVICE
In full justice to the Chesapeake Club the scribe must admit that such
light-weights as Billy Talbot, Torn Gunning, and Carter Thorn did not
fairly represent the standing of the organization. Many of the most
cultivated and enlightened men about Kennedy Square and the neighboring
country enjoyed its privileges; among them not only such men as Richard
Horn, Nathan Gill, the Chief-Justice of the State, and those members of
the State Legislature whose birth was above reproach, but most of the
sporting gentry of the county, as well as many of the more wealthy
planters who lived on the Bay and whose houses were opened to their
fellow-members when the ducks were flying.
Each man's lineage, occupation, and opinions on the leading topics of
the time were as well known to the club as to the man himself. Any
new-corner presenting himself for membership was always subjected to
the severest scrutiny, and had to be favorably passed upon by a large
majority of the committee before a sufficient number of votes could be
secured for his election.
The only outsider elected for years had been Amos Cobb, of Vermont, the
abolitionist, as he was generally called, who invariably wore black
broad-cloth and whose clean-shaven face--a marked contrast to the
others--with its restless black eyes, strong nose, and firm mouth, was
as sharp and hard as the rocks of his native State. His election to
full membership of the Chesapeake Club was not due to his wealth and
commercial standing--neither of these would have availed him--but to
the fact that he had married a daughter of Judge Wharton of Wharton
Hall, and had thus, by reason of his alliance with one of the first
families of the State, been admitted to all the social privileges of
Kennedy Square. This exception in his favor, however, had never
crippled Cobb's independence nor stifled his fearlessness in expressing
his views on any one of the leading topics of the day. The Vermonter
had worked with his hands when a boy on his father's farm, and believed
in the dignity of labor and the blessings of self-support. He believed,
too, in the freedom of all men, black and white, and looked upon
slavery as a crime. He expressed these sentiments openly and
unreservedly, and declared that no matter how long he might live South
he would never cease to raise his voice against a system which allowed
a man--as he put it--"to sit down in the shade and fan himself to sleep
while a lot of niggers whose bodies he owned were sweating in a
corn-field to help feed and clothe him."
These sentiments, it must be said, did not add to his popularity,
although the time had not yet arrived when he would have been thrown
into the street for uttering them.
Nathan Gill was a daily visitor. He was just mounting the club steps,
his long pen-wiper cloak about his shoulders, as Oliver, after his
interview with Colonel Clayton, passed down the street on his way back
to his mother. Nathan shook hands with the Colonel, and the two entered
the main room, and seated themselves at one of the tables.
Billy Talbot, who had moved to the window, and who had been watching
Oliver until he disappeared around the corner, dropped his eye-glass
with that peculiar twitch of the upper lip which no one could have
imitated, and crossed the room to where Nathan and Colonel Clayton had
taken their seats. Waggles, the scrap of a Skye terrier, who was never
three feet from Billy's heels, instantly crossed with him. After Billy
had anchored himself and had assumed his customary position, with his
feet slightly apart, Waggles, as was his habit, slid in and sat down on
his haunches between his master's gaiters. There he lifted his fluffy
head and gazed about him. The skill with which Mr. Talbot managed his
dog was only equalled by the dexterity with which he managed his
eye-glass; he never inadvertently stepped on the one nor unconsciously
let slip the other. This caused Mr. Talbot considerable mental strain,
but as it was all to which he ever subjected himself he stood the test
bravely.
"Who is that young man, Colonel" Billy began, as he bent his head to be
sure that Waggles was in position. He had been abroad while Oliver was
growing up, and so did not recognize him.
"That's Richard Horn's son," the Colonel said, without raising his eyes
from the paper. The Colonel never took Billy seriously.
"And a fine young fellow he is," broke in Nathan, straightening himself
proudly.
"Hope he don't take after his father, Gill. By the way, what's that old
wisionary doing now?" drawled Billy, throwing back the lapels of his
coat, and slapping his checked trousers with his cane. "Larst time you
talked to me about him he had some machine with w'eels and horse-shoe
magnets, didn't he? He hasn't been in here for some time, so I know
he's at work on some tomfoolery or other. Amazing, isn't it, that a man
of his blood, with a cellar of the best Madeiwa in the State, should
waste his time on such things. Egad! I cawn't understand it." Some of
Billy's expressions, as well as his accent, came in with his clothes.
"Now, if I had that Madeiwa, do you know what I'd do with it? I'd--"
"Perfectly, Billy," cried a man at the next table, who was bending over
a game of chess. "You'd drink it up in a week." Talbot had never been
known by any other name than Billy, and never would be as long as he
lived.
When the laugh had subsided, Nathan, whose cheeks were still burning at
the slighting way in which Billy Talbot had spoken of Richard, and who
had sat hunched up in his chair combing the white hair farther over his
ears with his long, spare fingers, a habit with him when he was in deep
thought, lifted his head and remarked, quietly, addressing the room
rather than Talbot:
"Richard's mind is not on his cellar; he's got something to think of
besides Madeira and cards and dogs." And he looked toward Waggles. "You
will all, one day, be proud to say that he lived in our town. Richard
is a genius, one of the most remarkable men of the day, and everybody
outside of this place knows it; you will be compelled to admit it yet.
I left him only half an hour ago, and he is just perfecting a motor,
gentlemen, which will--"
"Does it go yet, Nathan?" interrupted Cobb, who was filling a glass
from a decanter which a brown-coated darky had brought him. Cobb's wife
was Nathan's cousin, and, therefore, he had a right to be familiar. "I
went to see his machine the other day, but I couldn't make anything out
of it. Horn is a little touched here, isn't he?" and he tapped his
forehead and smiled knowingly.
"No, Amos, the motor was not running when I left the shop," answered
Nathan, dryly and with some dignity, "but it will be, he assured me,
perhaps by to-morrow." He could fight Billy Talbot, but he never
crossed swords with Cobb, never in late years. Cobb was the one man in
all the world, he once told Richard, with whom he had nothing in common.
"Oh, to-morrow?" And Cobb whistled as he put down the decanter and
picked up the day's paper. It was one of Cobb's jokes--this "to-morrow"
of his neighbors. "What was a Northern man's to-day was always a
Southern man's to-morrow," he would say. "I hope this young man of whom
you speak so highly is not walking in the footsteps of this genius of a
father? He looks to me like a young fellow that had some stuff in him
if anybody would bring it out."
The half-concealed sneer in Cobb's voice grated also on old Judge
Bowman, who threw down his book and looked up over his bowed
spectacles. He was a testy old fellow, with a Burgundy face and shaggy
white hair, a chin and nose that met together like a parrot's, and an
eye like a hawk. It was one of his principles to permit none of his
intimates to speak ill of his friends in his hearing. Criticisms,
therefore, by an outsider like Cobb were especially obnoxious to him.
"Richard Horn's head is all right, Mr. Cobb, and so is his heart," he
exclaimed in an indignant tone. "As for his genius, sir--Gill is within
the mark. He IS one of the remarkable men of our day. You are quite
right, too, about his young son, who has just left here. He has all the
qualities that go to make a gentleman, and many of those which will
make a jurist. He is now studying law with my associate, Judge
Ellicott--a profession ennobled by his ancestors, sir, and one, for
which what you call his 'stuff,' but which we, sir, call his 'blood,'
especially fits him. You Northern men, I know, don't believe in blood.
We do down here. This young man comes of a line of ancestors that have
reflected great credit on our State for more than a hundred years, and
he is bound to make his mark. His grandfather on his mother's side was
our Chief Justice in 1810, and his great-grandfather was--"
"That's just what's the matter with most of you Southerners, Judge,"
interrupted Cobb, his black eyes snapping. "You think more of blood
than you do of brains. We rate a man on Northern soil by what he does
himself, not what a bundle of bones in some family burying-ground did
for him before he was born. Don't you agree with me, Clayton?"
"I can't say I do, Cobb," replied the Colonel, slowly, stirring his
toddy. "I never set foot on your soil but once, and so am unfamiliar
with your ways." He never liked Cobb. "He's so cursedly practical, and
so proud of it, too," he would often say; "and if you will pardon me,
sir--a trifle underbred."
"When was that?" asked Cobb, looking over the top of his paper.
"That was some years ago, when I chased a wounded canvas-back across
the Susquehanna River, and had to go ashore to get him; and I want to
tell you, sir, that what you call 'your soil' was damned disagreeable
muck. I had to change my boots when I got back to my home, and I've
never worn them since." And the Colonel crushed the sugar in his glass
with his spoon as savagely as if each lump were the head of an enemy,
and raised the mixture to his mouth.
Amos's thin lips curled. The high and lofty airs of these patricians
always exasperated him. The shout of laughter that followed the
Colonel's reply brought the color to his cheeks.
"Chased him like a runaway nigger, I suppose, Clayton, didn't you? and
wrung his neck when you got him--" retorted Amos, biting his lips.
"Of course, like I would any other piece of my property that tried to
get away, or as I would wring the neck of any man who would help him--"
And the Colonel looked meaningly at the Vermonter and drained his glass
with a gulp. Then smothering his anger, he moved away to the window,
where he watched Mr. Talbot, who had just left the club and who at the
moment was standing on the corner making his daily afternoon inspection
of the two connecting streets; an occupation which Billy varied by
saluting each new-corner with a slap of his cane on his checker-board
trousers and a stentorian "Bah Jove!" Waggles meanwhile squatting
pensively between his gaiters.
When an hour later the Colonel presented himself at the Horn mansion,
no trace of this encounter with Cobb was in his face nor in his manner.
Men did not air their grievances in their own nor anyone's else home
around Kennedy Square.
Mrs. Horn met him with her hand extended. She had been watching for
Oliver's return with a degree of impatience rarely seen in her. She had
hoped that the Colonel would have called upon her before he went to his
office, and could not understand his delay until Oliver had given his
account of the morning mishaps. She was too anxious now to chide him.
It was but another indication of his temperament, she thought--a fault
to be corrected with the others that threatened his success in life.
Holding fast to the Colonel's hand she drew him to one of the old
haircloth sofas and told him the whole story.
"Do not give the mortgage a thought, my dear Sallie," the Colonel said,
In his kindest manner, when she had finished speaking, laying his hand
on her wrist. "My only regret is that it should have caused you a
moment's uneasiness. I know that our bank has lately been in need of a
large sum of money, and this loan, no doubt, was called in by the
board. But it will be all right--if not I will provide for it myself."
"No--I do not want that, and Richard, if he knew, would not be willing
either. Tell me, please, how this money is loaned," and she turned and
looked earnestly into his face. "What papers are passed, and who signs
them? I have never had anything to do with such matters, and you must
explain it all clearly."
"A note signed by Richard and made payable on a certain date was given
to the bank, and the mortgage was deposited as security."
"And if the note is not paid?"
"Then the property covered by the mortgage is sold, and the bank
deducts its loan--any balance, of course, is paid over to Richard."
"And when the sale is put off--what is done then?"
"A new note is given," and here the Colonel stopped as if in doubt,
"and sometimes a second name is placed on the note increasing the
security. But, Sallie, dear, do not let this part of it ever again
cross your mind. I will attend to it should it become necessary. It is
not often," and the Colonel waved his hand gallantly, "that a Clayton
can do a Horn a service."
"Thank you, dear friend, and it is just like you to wish to do it, but
this I cannot agree to. I have thought of another way since you have
been talking to me. Would it--" and she stopped and looked down on the
floor, "would it be of any use if I signed a note myself? This house we
live in is my own, as you know, and would be an additional security to
the bank if anything should happen."
The offer was so unusual that the Colonel caught his breath. He looked
at her in astonishment, but her eyes never wavered. He felt instantly
that, however lightly he might view the subject, the matter was
intensely serious with her. The Colonel half rose to his feet, and with
a bow that in Kennedy Square had earned for him the title of "the
Chesterfield of his time, sir," placed his hand on his heart.
"My dear Sallie," he said, "not a member of the board could refuse. It
would at once remove any obstacle the directors might have."
"Thank you, then we will leave it so, and I will have the papers
prepared at once."
"And is this Richard's advice?" the Colonel ventured to ask, slowly
regaining his seat. There were some misgivings still lingering in his
Chesterfieldian mind as to whether the proudest man he knew, gentle as
he was, would not forbid the whole transaction.
"No. He does not know of my purpose, and you will please not tell him.
He only knows that I am opposed to allowing the property to be sold,
and he has promised me that he will take no steps in the matter without
my consent. All I want you to do now is to tell him that the bank has
decided to let the matter stand. This obligation hereafter will be
between me and the board, and I will pledge myself to carry it out. And
now, one thing more before you go, and I ask this because you have seen
him grow up and I know you love him. What shall I do with Oliver?"
The Colonel again caught his breath. Gallant gentleman of the old
school, as he was, with a profound respect for the other sex, the
question startled him. According to his experience and traditions, the
fathers generally looked after the welfare of the sons and found them
places in life--not the mothers.
"What do you want to do with him?" he asked, quietly.
"I want him to go to work. I am afraid this life here will ruin him."
"Why, I thought he was studying law with Ellicott." The announcement
could not have been very surprising to the Colonel. He doubtless knew
how much time Oliver spent at Judge Ellicott's office.
"He no doubt THINKS he's studying, dear friend, but he really spends
half his time in old Mr. Crocker's studio, who puts the worst possible
notions into his head, and the balance of his time he is with your
Sue," and she smiled faintly.
"For which you can hardly blame him, dear lady," and the Colonel bent
his head graciously.
"No, for she is as sweet as she can be, and you know I love her dearly,
but they are both children, and will be for some years. You don't want
to support them, do you? and you know Richard can't," and there flashed
out from her eyes one of those quizzical glances which the Colonel
remembered so well in her girlhood.
The Colonel nodded his head, but he did not commit himself. He had
never for a moment imagined that Oliver's love-affair would go as far
as that, and, then again, he knew Sue.
"What do you suggest doing with him? I will help, of course, in any way
I can," he said, after a pause, during which Mrs. Horn sat watching
every expression that crossed his face.
"I don't know. I have not fully made up my mind. I have been greatly
disturbed over Oliver. He seems to be passing through one of those
dangerous crises which often come to a boy. What do you think of my
sending him to New York?"
"THE NORTH, Sallie! Why, you wouldn't send Oliver up North, would you?"
The announcement this time gave the Colonel so genuine a shock that it
sent the blood tingling to his cheeks. Really, the idiosyncrasies of
the Horn family were beyond his comprehension! Evidently Richard's
vagaries had permeated his household.
"I do not like the influence of the North on our young men, my dear
Madam." The Colonel spoke now with great seriousness and with some
formality, and without any of the Chesterfieldian accompaniments of
tone or gesture. "If he were my boy, I should keep him here. He is
young and light-hearted, I know, and loves pleasure, but that will all
come out of him. Let him stay with Ellicott; he will bring him out all
right. There is a brusqueness and a want of refinement among most
Northern men that have always grated on me. You can see it any day in
Amos Cobb."
As he spoke a slight flush overspread his listener's face. The
positiveness of his tone, she thought, carried with it a certain
uncomplimentary criticism of her suggestion. The Colonel saw it, and,
as if in apology and to prove his case, added, in a gentler tone: "Only
this afternoon at the club I heard Cobb speaking in the most outrageous
manner about our most treasured institutions. It is not his fault
perhaps. It is the fault of his breeding, but it is unbearable all the
same. Keep Oliver here. He has a most engaging and lovable nature, is
as clean and sweet as a girl, and I haven't a doubt but what he will
honor both you and his blood. Take my word for it, and keep him at
home. He is young yet, barely twenty-two--there is plenty of time for
him." And the Colonel rose from the sofa, lifted Mrs. Horn's fingers to
his lips and bowed himself out.
The Colonel only told the truth, as he saw it. In his day and
generation men of twenty-two were but boys, and only gray-beards ruled
the State and counting-house. The Senators were indeed grave and
reverend seigniors, and the merchants, in their old-fashioned
dress-coats, looked more like distinguished diplomats than buyers and
sellers of produce. In those days, too, the young man with a mustache
was thought presuming and dangerous, and the bank who would have
selected a cashier under forty would have caused a run on its funds in
a week after the youth had been appointed to his position.
After the Colonel's departure Mrs. Horn sat in deep thought. The
critical tones of his voice still lingered in her memory. But her
judgment had not been shaken nor was her mind satisfied. Oliver still
troubled her. The Colonel's advice might be right, but she dared not
rely upon it.
The next day she sent for Amos Cobb: Malachi took the message this
time, not Oliver. Cobb came on the minute. He was greatly surprised at
Mrs. Horn's note, for although his wife was an intimate friend of Mrs.
Horn's, and he himself would have been welcome, he was seldom present
at any of the functions of the house and could not be considered one of
its intimate guests. He did not like music, he said to his wife, when
urged to go, and, as he did not play chess or drink Madeira, he
preferred to stay at home.
Malachi relieved Amos of his hat, and conducted him into Mrs. Horn's
presence with rather a formal bow--quite different from the low salaam
with which he had greeted Colonel Clayton. "Dat bobobalish'-nest,
Mister Cobb, jes' gone in de parlor," he said to Aunt Hannah when he
regained the kitchen. "Looks like he lived on parsimmons, he dat sour."
Mrs. Horn received her visitor cordially, but with a reserve which she
had not maintained toward the Colonel, for Cobb had never represented
to her anything but a money standard pure and simple. It was only when
the Colonel had mentioned his name, and then only because of her urgent
need of just such sound practical advice as she knew he could give that
she had determined to seek his services--quite as she would have
consulted an architect or an attorney.
The Vermonter took his seat on the extreme edge of the sofa, squared
his shoulders, pulled up the points of his high collar, touched
together the tips of all his fingers, and looked straight at his
hostess.
"I am greatly obliged to you for coming," she began, "for I know how
busy you are, but I have a question to ask of you which I feel sure you
can answer better than anyone I know. It is about my son Oliver. I am
going to be perfectly frank with you, and I want you to be equally
frank with me." And she summed up Oliver's aims, temptations, and
failings with a skill that gained the Vermonter's closest attention.
"With all this," she continued, "he is affectionate, loves me dearly,
and has never disobeyed me in his life. It is his love of change that
worries me--his instability--one thing one moment, and another the
next. It seems to me the only way to break this up is to throw him
completely on his own resources so that he may realize for once what
life really means. Now tell me--" and she looked searchingly into
Cobb's face, as if eager to note the effect of her question--"if he
were your only son, would you, in view of all I have told you, send him
to New York to make his start in life, or would you keep him here?"
The Vermonter's face had begun to lighten as she progressed, and had
entirely cleared when he learned why he had been sent for. He had been
afraid, when he received her note, that it had been about the mortgage.
Cobb was chairman of the Loan Committee at the bank, had personally
called attention to Richard's note being overdue, and had himself
ordered its payment.
"My two boys are at school in Vermont, Madam," he answered, slowly.
"But Oliver must earn his own living," she said, earnestly. "His father
will have nothing to give him."
Cobb made no reply. He was not surprised. Most all of these
aristocratic Southerners were on their last legs. He was right about
the note, he said to himself--it was just as well to have it paid--and
he made a mental memorandum to inquire about it as soon as he reached
his office, and have it pressed for settlement at once. Business
matters must be kept intact.
"What do you want him to do, Madam?" he asked, looking at her keenly
from under his bushy eyebrows.
"Anything to earn his bread," she replied, in a decided tone.
Cobb passed his hand over his face, pinched his chin with his thumb and
forefinger, and looked out of the window. The answer pleased him. It
pleased him, too, to be consulted by the Horns on a matter of this
kind. It pleased him most of all to realize that when these aristocrats
who differed with him politically got into a financial hole they had to
send for him to help pull them out.
For a moment the Vermonter remained in deep thought. "Here is a
Southern woman," he said to himself, "with some common-sense and with a
head on her shoulders. If her husband had half her brains I'd let the
mortgage stand." Then he turned and faced her squarely, his eyes boring
into hers.
"Send him to New York, by all means, Madam, or anywhere else out of
here," he said, firmly, but with a kindly tone in his voice. "When you
decide, let me know--I will give him a letter to a business friend of
mine who lives on the Hudson, a short distance above the city, who may
help him. But let me advise you to send him at once. I saw your son
yesterday at the club, and he exactly fits your measure, except in one
respect. He's got more grit in him than you give him credit for. I
looked him over pretty carefully, and if he gets in a tight place you
needn't worry about him. He'll pull out, or my name isn't Cobb. And now
one thing more--" and he rose stiffly from the sofa and buttoned up his
coat--"don't give him any pocket-money. Chuck him out neck and heels
into the world and let him shift for himself. That's the way I was
treated, and that's the way I got on. Good-day."